


Mac's Fursona

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Canon-typical dubcon, Enemas, Furry, Fursuits, Gen, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Slash if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: When a bunch of fursuiters visit Paddy's Pub, Mac and Charlie hatch some big plans. Big, furry plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krisherdown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisherdown/gifts).



11:00 PM, on a Thursday

It was when the third guy in a mascot costume came up to the bar that Charlie got off his stool and went to the back room.

“Mac,” he said.

Mac slammed the lid down on the laptop he was looking at. When Charlie heard the slam he turned around and counted to five, waiting for Mac to zip his fly. Charlie always gave Mac the Courtesy Count. That’s what friends do, even if they never talked about it or acknowledged it.

“What, Charlie? I was in the middle of something.”

“Are we allowed to serve drinks to tigers?”

Mac frowned. “Well. If they’re 21, sure. But I don’t think tigers live that long outside of captivity, and if they were in captivity they couldn’t get to Paddy’s Pub, now could they? Unless there was an escape. Was there an escape?” He asked eagerly.

“No. I don’t think so. What about wolves?”

“How are they going to hold a beer in their paws?” Mac asked. “Maybe if we poured it into a bowl on the floor.”

“I’ll go out and see if they’re okay with that,” Charlie said, and walked out.

Mac went to re-open the laptop then stopped. “Charlie!” He shouted, standing up. “Animals have no concept of human currency, how are they going to pay! At least crows can barter for—”

He walked out of the back room. “Oh,” he said. “Is there a mascot convention in town or something?”

Charlie shrugged as he poured a beer into a bowl on the floor. Someone in a purple wolf costume worn under a Flyers jersey got down on his knees.

“Oh, right,” Charlie said. He put a straw into the bowl.

The wolf gave Charlie a thumbs-up and tipped him five bucks.

“They’re fucking furries, Mac,” Dennis said, looking up from the pint he was pouring himself. He squinted at a cat with giant eyes, wearing a blue tutu.

“What the hell’s a furry?” Mac asked.

The wolf looked up from the floor and the cat came over to him, handing him a business card. “Technically, we’re fursuiters,” the cat said in a muffled voice.

“Huh,” Mac said.

***

After the bar closed, Charlie and Mac sat together exploring the cat person’s online shop.

“A suit made of fur,” Mac said, stroking his chin. “And you can wear it with or without the hockey jersey?”

“I think so,” Charlie said. He hit the sticky down arrow of the keyboard on the laptop.

“Those holes are so conveniently placed,” Mac said. “You never have to take it off, even to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, is that what that’s for?” Charlie asked.

“You get to be a cartoon character forever, Charlie,” Mac said. Charlie went to open a new tab but Mac grabbed at the computer, impatient.

“I have to start working on my fursona, Charlie,” Mac said. “The cat—Kitty Arugula—she said they’re all unique. Well. Mine is going to be the *uniquest*.”

“No way, man, I’m going to have the most amazing fursona.”

“You guys know the person wearing the cat costume was a dude,” Dennis said, walking out the door.

“Pssh,” Mac replied. “That was a girl cat, Dennis. I know what girl cats look like.”

***

When Mac came into the bar the next day, all of his notes gathered up under his arm, he walked straight to the back and burst in on Charlie, who was bent over the laptop and breathing hard.

“Mac! Courtesy count, go outside and count to five!” Charlie yelled, covering himself.

“Why don’t you want me to see your dick, we’re both guys, it’s totally normal,” Mac said, walking in. Charlie zipped his fly, grumbling. “Give me the computer, I need to type all this up. What...” He stopped mid-sentence, taking in what Charlie was looking at, and Charlie’s disheveled state. “Have you been here all night? Who is that?” He looked at an image of a cartoon animal on the screen.

“That’s ZimaFolf99,” Charlie said. “We were CHATTING when you INTERRUPTED US.”

“Charlie, you can barely spell, how are you—”

“THAT’S WHY GOD INVENTED THE EMOJI KEYBOARD MAC!” Charlie shouted. He threw his hands up. “We were making a connection. ZimaFolf99 just wants to stick a bicycle pump in me, inflate me with air and/or a semen-like fluid that is not actually semen, and then pop me, Mac, is that so wrong? They want me to come to the furry convention at the end of the month!”

“You got all that from emojis?” Mac asked.

“A picture is worth a thousand words. But ZimaFolf99 just signed off and now we may never make that connection again. I may never get popped.”

“...does that mean I can use the laptop,” Mac said flatly.

Charlie scoffed and stormed out.

***

A couple hours later, Mac emerged from the back room with plans. Charlie was sweeping grumpily.

“I’m like a wolf with gills and shark teeth, and I’m also the first wolf member of the Flyers so I have feet that are also hockey skates because of my unique claw arrangement. I also breathe fire. Oh and my name is Mac the Wolf.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ve never seen a wolf in a hockey jersey before, it’s so original.”

“A half-wolf, half-shark, Charlie, god, were you even listening? Do you think you can draw this? Kitty Arugula said she needs a reference before she can quote me a price on a costume.”

“You mean fursuit,” Charlie corrected. “Furries won’t accept you as one of their own if you don’t know the right lingo. You can’t embarrass me at the con.”

“It’s going to be the best fursuit ever,” Mac said, determined. “I have the best fursona of all time.”

Charlie dumped a dustpan of broken glass bits and dirt into the trash can. “We’ll see Mac. We’ll see.” He stared, not breaking eye contact.

***

“What do you mean, fifteen hundred dollars?” Mac shouted into the phone. “Yeah, I know it’s complicated...what about just the head? That much? Are you fucking kidding me? I’ll make it myself!” He hung up. “Charlie, I’m making my own damn fursuit. How hard could it be?”

Charlie went back to hot gluing fake fur to chicken wire. “Why are you always copying me!”

“Watch the bar, I’m going to the craft store,” Mac said.

***

“And the purple fur is *how much* per yard?” Mac asked at the counter.

“It’s on sale for $24.99, sir,” the woman said.

He sighed and looked around the store. “Well. How much for those carpet scraps?” He pointed to the corner.

“...the moldy ones?”

“Yeah, whatever, the ones over there.”

“...you can just have them.”

“Great. Do you have a bag?”“

***

Mac assembled his materials in a pile at the back of the bar. He found a tutorial on the internet that explained it all. He was only making a few substitutions. It would be fine, he reassured himself.

He laid a piece of the spotted carpet scraps (they looked just like fur, of course they did) on top of a piece of foam insulation and started stapling.

“It’s coming along great, Charlie!” Mac called.

“Totally,” Charlie said, ignoring the burns he had been accumulating from the hot glue gun.

***

By the end of the week, they were mostly done. At least, they had assembled *something*.

“What *is* your fursona supposed to be, Charlie?” Mac asked.

“A magical fennec fox/lemur/bobcat/goldfish with unicorn powers,” he said. “Named Candida.”

Mac looked at Charlie’s fur monstrosity with its gaping mouth and sharp looking horn. “Cool,” he said.

Charlie tried the head on. “Fits great,” he said.

“How do you see out of it?” Mac asked.

“What?” Charlie said. He turned to walk over to the bar and bumped into a few tables. “I can’t hear you.”

“Eh, you can just follow me around,” Mac said. He put on his carpet-covered hockey skates and his carpet-fur-pants (well, they were more like chaps with a tail) and his carpet-paws and his jersey, then pulled the head on. It was a little squarish, sure. He drew the face on the carpet samples with Sharpie, which was really an innovation in fursuiting considering the cost, and he cut holes for eyes, and for gills. He moved and felt the staples dig into his skin. It hurt a little...maybe a lot, but it was worth it. He looked amazing. He checked himself out in a sliver of clean mirror.

“We’re ready to go to the con,” he said.

Charlie pulled his head off. “We’re going to rock their world,” he said.

***

“What do you mean it costs money to get in?” Mac fumed. They had waited in line at the convention for forty-five minutes among all kinds of people. So many of them wanted to take Mac’s picture, and he had been standing up straight, preening, telling everyone about Mac the Wolf. Charlie held his hand and bobbed back and forth, not able to see anything but as far as Mac could tell he was having a good time.

Until they got to the front of the line.

“I’m sorry sir, registration for the con is $300. A day pass is $65,” she said, stroking her own tail, curled up in her lap.

“Where am I going to get that kind of money?” He asked.

“Well, it’s not like you spent it on your suit,” she said.

“What’s happening?” Charlie asked.

“They won’t let us in, Charlie! You’re just jealous of my fursona!” Mac shouted. “You’ve never seen such a good hockey playing wolf.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re supposed to be,” she said.

Mac was sweating a bit. Well, a lot. And the carpet was soaking up most of it. And the places the staples poked him were hurting, and might have looked infected, but probably not. He’s had worse. He had a tetanus shot once as a kid.

“Fine,” Mac said. “We’ll go somewhere else!” The room started spinning a bit. He walked away from the line, leaving Charlie behind.

He sank down into a couch in the hotel lobby. He only closed his eyes for a minute but when he opened them, a wolf that was also wearing a lab coat leaned over him.

“What do we have here?” The wolf said.

“I’m Mac,” Mac said weakly.

“Come with me. I’m a doctor.” The wolf grabbed one of Mac’s arms and a squirrel of some kind grabbed his other one.

“Are you taking me to the hospital?” Mac said. “I think I have a fever and I lost my friend.”

“We’ll take good care of you,” the squirrel purred deeply.

***

Mac was lying on a bed. There was a bright light over him. His pants were off but the sweaty, moldy head was still on.

“You have a fever and the only solution is a good cleansing,” the wolf doctor said. He held up a plastic tube attached to a bag of something.

“I didn’t know wolves were allowed to be doctors,” Mac said weakly.

The doctor chuckled. “Wolves can be anything we want, Mac.” The squirrel nurse and a bunch of other animals crowded around him. “Now. Let me give you this enema.”

“Sure, Doctor,” Mac said.

***

Mac arrived back at the bar in the early morning in a cab one of the bobcats paid for. He sucked on his lollipop. It was hard to get comfortable in the backseat wearing his plastic cone, but he managed.

Charlie was waiting there when he got back. “Where have you been?” They shouted at each other.

“You disappeared,” Charlie said. “Right before ZimaFolf99 found me in the line. He would have paid for you.” He scratched behind his ear and came back with a blob of something white. The rest of his clothes looked a little spattered too.

“Are wolves allowed to practice medicine in Pennsylvania?” Mac asked Charlie, stepping up onto the curb with a little bit of a hitch.

“Well, only if they’re 21, but they only live that long in captivity,” Charlie said.

“That’s what I thought,” Mac said, shaking his head.

“Wolf law in this country isn’t governed by reason either,” Charlie said, putting an arm around Mac. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
